


wherever is your heart

by Kalael



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Road Trips, Slow Build, boys being dumb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalael/pseuds/Kalael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ll see you in two months.”  Bittle reminds him.  Jack’s smile is a little bit tremulous, but no one mentions it.</p><p>(Graduation isn't the end of everything, and Jack knows that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this got so fucking long that I'm just posting the first half while I continue to work out the kinks in the second half oh my goooodddddd
> 
> title is from a song by Brandi Carlile by the same name go listen to it

It is a Thursday morning at the Haus, and everyone but Bittle and Jack have classes before noon. Bittle’s economics class had been cancelled, and Jack’s Thursday mornings are usually dedicated to lifting and calisthenics. The rarity of such a quiet morning doesn’t go unnoticed, and Jack finds himself in charge of making coffee and frying up sausages as Bittle pulls little puffed croissant pastries out of the oven. They don’t say much. They don’t even listen to music. They just leave the windows open and let the calm of the day wash over them.

The curtains Bittle bought for the kitchen don’t exactly block out the light, but Jack finds himself momentarily distracted by the way the diffused sunlight plays off the cheap water glasses on the table. He feels entirely at peace, an uncommon thing as his finals creep closer, and Bittle appears to notice because he doesn’t try to strike up a conversation just yet. They drink their coffee and eat their sausages and croissants in amicable silence.

“So I was thinking,” Bittle starts off, “that I could come visit you. After you graduate, I mean.”

“Oh.” Jack blinks, slowly and full of consideration. Bittle doesn’t wait for a proper response. In a moment he has cleared the table and unfurled a map of the United States across it. The plate of croissants holds one curling edge down. Their coffee cups secure the corners.

Bittle sounds inordinately fond of road trips, at least when he talks about driving to Providence over the summer. Jack hums an agreement every other sentence just to let Bittle know that he’s listening, even though his eyes are focused on the map laid between them. There is jam smeared over Philadelphia. Bittle’s fingers are sticky-red as he traces the highways he would need to take from Georgia all the way to Rhode Island.

“It’ll only take maybe seventeen hours,” Bittle tells him, absentmindedly tapping the star-marked Providence, “depending on the construction on I-85.”

“That’s too far to go alone.” Jack says. Bittle visibly deflates, his gaze flitting between Jack’s face and the plate of croissants sitting on top of the west coast. “I’ll make the drive with you.”

He doesn’t know why he suggests it. It’s not impossible; in fact it’s not a terrible idea at all since Bittle has been trying to convince him to visit Madison for the past three months. It’s only three weeks until finals, and just a week after that is graduation commencement. Although Jack will be leaving almost immediately to begin off-season training with the Falconers, George has assured him that he will be able to take some time off so long as he gives advanced notice. Jack already knows where he’ll be living in Providence, has already signed the lease on the apartment just three blocks from the Falconers’ facility. It shouldn’t be too difficult to join Bittle on his return trip to Samwell about halfway through the summer, and Bittle can stay in Providence for a little while if he likes.

None of that is exactly relevant though, because at this moment Bittle is beaming at him like a small sun. A jam-covered sun with pastry flakes on his chin.

“Road trip!” Bittle cheers. There are raspberry seeds in his teeth and Jack knows it's likely that he will not survive the drive. He points at DC with a butter knife anyway, resigned to his fate. At worst, Bittle will be overly eager to leave for Samwell and never text Jack a photo of a freshly baked apple pie again.

 _At worst_ , Jack will fuck up and Bittle will never speak to him again. But there’s time until the trip, and four days alone with Bittle is enough. It will have to be.

 

The week before graduation is a bit of a blur and that’s partly because of Shitty’s insistence on getting absolutely schwasted during senior week. The Haus steadily grows quiet as the frogs head home, finals having been completed and commencement rapidly approaching. Ransom and Holster throw themselves into senior week festivities wholeheartedly, helping Shitty procure what is probably an illegal number of kegs for possibly the last Haus party that Shitty and Jack will ever be a part of.

Bittle keeps making cookies and Jack isn’t sure how many more of them Ransom and Holster can eat, no matter how good they are, but the treats are excellent for trading with the lacrosse seniors when Shitty declares they need several more funnels and an inflatable kiddie pool. Jack has no idea what the kiddie pool is for and he has no real intention of finding out, as Haus parties have never really been his thing. It may be the last one, but there are only so many things he will do at Shitty’s behest. Getting shitfaced two days before commencement is not one of them.

“Hey, man, you seen Lardo anywhere?” Shitty calls up from the living room. Jack looks away from his laptop, where an email from Georgia outlines the Falconers training schedule that will consume most of his summer. His shoulders have been tense all day, even though his finals are over. He takes a moment to close his eyes, and his chest loosens. Jack takes a few deep breaths.

“Last I saw, she was with Bittle.” He hollers back, and there is some muted grumbling as Shitty presumably gathers his things to finish prepping for the party. Jack rolls his eyes, but he finds himself smiling anyway. Nervous energy flutters just under his skin, like a faint current of electricity. The hairs on his arms are actually standing up. Just a few more days and he’ll be in Providence, Rhode Island. He has to close his eyes again.

Sharp knocking on his window startles him. Jack twists at his desk, back rod straight, and Lardo holds a finger to her lips from where she’s perched on the windowsill. There is a bandana tied around her head. Bittle is behind her, crouched down with a pair of shutter shades on and a plate of cookies in his hands. He sets them just inside Jack’s room, and the pair of them scramble across the porch roof towards Bittle’s room.

When Jack looks down at the cookies, he realizes that he is no longer tense. He has no idea what he is going to do when they all finally leave.

“It’s bittersweet.” Bittle says a few hours later, more than a little tipsy as he leans against Jack’s arm. They’re both holding beers but Jack is only on his third, and Bittle is...well, Jack stopped counting after five. Bittle’s cheeks are slightly flushed and even in the dim light Jack can see the small freckles on his cheeks, his neck.

“Graduation?” Jack hazards a guess, and Bittle gets this crosseyed look before he puts down his beer and presses more firmly into Jack, steadying himself.

“‘M too drunk for an actual, honest to goodness, heartbreaking conversation about how you’re leaving us.” Bittle gives his solemn retort. Jack feels his breath hit the bottom of his lungs, a moment of nausea as anxiety tries to roll in. He sets his own beer next to Bittle’s and guides him outside of the Haus to sit at the furthest end of the porch, where it’s relatively quiet and the air isn’t as stale. He tells himself it’s for Bittle’s sake, but it’s not.

“Your room’s packed up.” Bittle isn’t looking at Jack, he’s gazing out across the road with glazed eyes that are caused by either alcohol or tears, it’s hard to tell. Jack freezes up a little, because no matter how much Shitty says he’s improved, Jack is still terrible at handling emotions. Especially emotions belonging to others. _Especially_ emotions belonging to Bittle.

“Yours is, too.” Jack points out instead, and Bitty gives a long-suffering sigh as he lolls his head onto Jack’s shoulder. This is the closest they’ve ever been, discounting postgame hugs through layers of padding, and Bittle is warm against Jack’s bare arm.

“Yeah, but not for good. I’ve still got dibs on my own room. Yours is--” It’s going to Chowder, because Jack can’t bear the thought of leaving Bittle in a house full of rowdy college boys who don’t have either the common sense or the responsibility that Jack and Shitty have. Shitty’s leadership at the Haus is a bit questionable at times, but the man knows what he’s doing and always makes sure everyone else is alright. Ransom and Holster are good guys, but they get in over their heads too easily. Chowder will grow to be a wellspring of common sense, under Bittle’s watch. Probably. One can hope, anyway.

Bittle has gone quiet, his breathing shallow but even as he continues to rest on Jack. There isn’t a need for words at this moment, not when Bittle is likely drunk enough that this will all be hazy in the morning, but Jack finds his voice anyway.

“I’m not leaving your life forever, you know. I’m not….I’m only going to be 40 minutes away.” It’s a pretty straight shot from Samwell to Providence, Shitty and Jack have gone over the route a few dozen times and unless there’s traffic out of Providence, it’s not too hard to shave off a couple extra minutes.

“I googled it the day I met George.” Bittle admits, and for some reason Jack is so completely unsurprised by this that he just ruffles Bittle’s hair and leaves his fingers woven through soft bangs. Bittle tilts his face into the contact and Jack almost, _almost_ leans his head against the one on his shoulder. But he doesn’t, because in two days he won’t be here anymore, and he is more afraid of that than Bittle is.

The next morning Jack wakes up alone, and the smell of pancakes coming from the kitchen most certainly does not bring a few tears to his eyes.

 

Commencement itself goes by at an appalling, agonizingly slow pace. Jack and Shitty are nowhere near each other, because Knight and Zimmermann are are far enough apart that even Shitty can’t make it look like an accident to stand near each other. Jack easily spots his parents in the crowd and is surprised to find Bittle sitting next to his mother, an unreadable expression on his face despite the plastered on smile. Jack doesn’t really remember the ceremony itself. He is handed his diploma, he shakes some hands, he smiles for cameras and then it’s over.

His mother is crying when she hugs him and his father looks so proud that Jack has to look away, has to ground himself in some way. His gaze lands on Bittle, who looks exhausted but happy, and Jack smiles back at him. He tries not to think about the goodbyes that are coming.

In the end, it’s not as difficult as Jack had dreaded it would be. Shitty hugs everyone and is unapologetic about the few tears that do fall from his eyes. He doesn’t let go of Lardo for a solid hour, and she doesn’t even complain. Chowder cries. Ransom and Holster do not, but Jack has a feeling he will be receiving a lot of _‘I miss you, no homo’_ texts in the near future.

Bittle...does not cry. Jack hadn’t expected him to. He hadn’t really known what to expect, actually, so when Bittle reaches up to Jack for one final hug before his parents drive him down to Providence, he doesn’t even think about it. Without all the padding it’s easy to feel how small Bittle is. Jack could crush him right into his body, could leave a lasting imprint and have an excuse to chirp Bittle for days. He doesn’t do that. Instead he basks in that gentle pressure, memorizes the feel of Bittle’s arms around his neck, and tries not to be obvious about how much he’s going to miss him.

“I’ll see you in two months.” Bittle reminds him. Jack’s smile is a little bit tremulous, but no one mentions it.

Ten minutes down the road, Shitty texts him a photo of Bittle silhouetted by the sunset in the Haus kitchen along with the caption _‘thought u needed this’_ and Jack can’t explain to his parents why his face is so red.

 

The Falconers are...great. Jack enjoys training with them, and George assures him that the other guys like him just as much. They like that he’s humble and they like that he’s open to their advice. He feels like he’s improving quickly.

 _‘how’s practice?’_ Bittle texts, and Jack texts back a quick _‘great’_ when the team goes on lunch break. He doesn’t get a chance to look at his phone until late in the evening, and he’s almost too sore and tired to bother. But it’s worth it to find a silly smiley face emoticon from Bittle, along with a few progress photos of some new pie recipe that looks delicious.

If there is a jam smeared map tacked to the wall of his apartment, Jack doesn’t explain the meaning of it to anyone.

The practices fly by but Jack’s trip to Madison, Georgia, feels like it’s growing further away. The days are like miles and they stretch on in curving roads, each practice and interview another bump along the way. He has to fly to Atlanta, where Bitty will be picking him up at the airport, and the next day they will be heading out to Washington DC. Jack is already used to long days of travel, so the thought of spending two consecutives days sitting down doesn’t bother him much. It helps and harms in turn knowing that Bittle will be there for the majority of the trip.

“Do you need to me to drive you to the airport?” George asks after practice one day, and when Jack gives her a blank look she pulls up her calendar on her phone. “Your flight to Atlanta is next week, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Jack confirms. He pulls out his own phone, which automatically opens up to his texts with Bittle, and he realizes that he’d been so focused on living in the moment that he hadn’t realized exactly how fast time has gone. It’s a disorienting reality check, and George reaches out a hand to steady him when he suddenly sways into the wall.

“Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” Everything crashes down for a moment, the dates crossed off on the calendar at his apartment and the weeks worth of laundry he still needs to do, and all he ate for breakfast that morning was a power bar because he couldn’t stomach anything else.

Jack sits down. He breathes. It’s just him and George in the hallway, and it’s all going to be fine. He breathes, and eventually his head feels less stuffy and his stomach feels less queasy. George sits down next to him and tentatively puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Will you be okay for practice tomorrow?” George is prepared to call him in sick, and Jack appreciates that more than she could ever know. He nods.

“I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

 _‘will you be okay?’_ Bittle asks after Jack mentions it in passing.

 _‘yes.’_ He responds, and means it.

George ends up being the one to drive Jack to the airport, and after a slightly embarrassing mother hen moment she releases him to the mercy of Gate E. It’s still early enough in the morning that not many people are catching flights. It’s mostly business men and exhausted looking families. Jack feels a little out of place, wearing an old Samwell sweatshirt with his Falconers cap pulled over his eyes. George had made fun of him for looking so ‘grungy’ but Jack only packed one bag for the trip, and it’s his carry-on. He can impress people later, when he isn’t so jittery about flying.

A pill of ativan and 30 minutes later, Jack is boarding his flight with boneless exhaustion. He’s asleep the second the turbulence is gone. It’s only a two and a half hour flight so he’s awake in time for landing, and Jack stumbles as quickly as he can into the nearest bathroom.

 _‘here’_ He texts, his shirt halfway on and his pants still unbuttoned. He gets no response, because Bittle doesn’t text and drive.

It’s not that he’s trying to impress Bittle. He just doesn’t want to look like a slob. This has the unfortunate side effect of getting him recognized by a group of tourists on their way to their connecting flight to Nashville, and after some awkward selfies and an autograph Jack hurries to the airport pick up in hopes that Bittle hasn’t had to make another drive around while waiting.

 _’zone 3’_ Jack’s phone says, and sure enough Bittle’s got his window rolled down so that he can sit on the door and wave to Jack.

For a moment Jack freezes, terrified that Bittle will run out to hug him, but that doesn’t happen. Jack walks over to the car and throws his bag into the backseat, and although Bittle is practically vibrating with how excited he is, he waits until Jack is sitting in the passenger seat before he nearly launches himself over the divider to hug him. Jack immediately relaxes, all but the faintest trace of anxiety vanishing from his chest.

“I missed you!” Bittle’s voice is right in his ear, Jack can feel his jaw moving over his cheekbone, can see freckles he doesn’t recognize smattered over Bittle’s neck. Just as soon as it came it’s gone, and Bittle is putting his seatbelt on back on the driver’s side.

 _I missed you too_ , Jack doesn’t say, but when Bittle looks over at him and smiles Jack knows he doesn’t have to.

Suzanne “Call me Mama!” Bittle greets them at the door when they pull into the driveway an hour later, a huge smile on her face as she ushers Jack in. Bittle’s smile is more subdued now, but his pleasure is genuine when Jack settles himself into the guest room.

“Coach’ll be back tonight.” Bittle says, sitting next to Jack on the bed. “There really aren’t any plans for the evening--and when I say that, I mean practically the whole damn county is gonna be makin’ ‘surprise’ visits until it passes acceptable visiting hours. Those hours depend entirely on how much wine makes the rounds.” Bittle’s accent was never very strong, but it’s definitely more pronounced here than it was at Samwell.

“Sounds busy.” Jack chooses the words carefully, feeling them in his mouth and hoping they don’t come out as anxious as he is. Bittle shakes his head and leans back on his arms. Jack observes him as subtly as he can, noting the way Bittle’s white polo stands out against the pale neutrals of the room and how Bittle keeps himself tight, not sprawling out like he does at the Haus.

“I’ll make sure we’re out of the house. I don’t much like that sort of attention, and I’m bettin’ you appreciate it even less. I know a place in town you’ll just adore, their burgers are damn near the size of Lardo’s head.” Jack just smiles at him, and Bittle coughs as he stands up. “Well, I’ll let you alone for a while. Mama and I will just be finishing up lunch in the kitchen, so come on out whenever you’re ready, alright?”

“Alright.” Jack doesn’t bother unpacking, but he does wash his face in the hallway bathroom. There are family photos along the walls and Jack finds himself examining each and every one. Seeing someone grow up through photographs gives a strange sense of distance. It’s forced awareness that although Jack may think that he and Bittle are close, he has known Bittle for only a small fraction of their lives.

He doesn’t find that disheartening. Jack stops at the photo of Bittle and his mother during his freshman year at Samwell, reaches out to the touch the frame. _‘Samwell 2013’_ is written in the corner of the photograph.

“Your father took that photo.” Suzanne says from where the hall connects to the kitchen. She is holding a stack of dishes to set the table, and Jack reaches out to take them from her.

“I know.” He smiles, and together they set the table.

The rest of the day goes by slowly, hazily, and the heat is nothing Jack is used to. Bittle laughs when Jack ends up lying shirtless under a tree in the backyard, glaring up at the leaves and reaching blindly for the sweet tea Suzanne had sent them out with. Bittle nudges it towards him and Jack mumbles a thank you before chugging it.

“You are so very, _thoroughly_ , Canadian.” Bittle jabs at Jack’s shoulder with a bare foot from where he’s leaning against the tree trunk.

“Shut up, Bits.” Jack sighs, and Bittle laughs again. True to Bittle’s word, neighbors have been popping up every hour to say hello. Coach, which is all Jack has known to call Bittle’s father, has yet to arrive. The heat prevented them from leaving earlier, but Bitte assures Jack that once the sun starts going down it will cool off.

“We could’ve just met halfway, you know. In DC.” Bittle says, breakng the silence that had comfortably stretched between them. Jack throws an arm over his eyes.

“I don’t mind. I wanted to see where you live.” Jack hears Bittle shift somewhere behind him.

“Oh. Well, thank you.” He doesn’t think that he’s imagining the smile that he hears in Bittle’s voice.

When the sun settles just over the rooftops of the houses and the air gets a bit cooler, Bittle suggests that they go grab dinner. They walk to a diner called Betsy’s, and Jack chirps him about it for a solid hour while Bittle turns bright red and stuffs a massive burger into his face. The guys would never let Bittle live it down, Jack thinks, and he decides that it’s something he’ll keep to himself. For now.

"What are you doing?" Bittle's expression is both horrified and fascinated. Jack pauses with a French fry halfway to his mouth, part of it covered with his chocolate malt.

"Eating?" Jack offers up the obvious, and Bittle makes a disgusted sound.

"You dipped your fries into your _shake_." He points accusingly at the malt on the table and Jack shrugs one shoulder before eating the fry. “Oh, my goodness. That’s terrifying. What is wrong with you, bless your sweet little Canadian heart, _what is wrong with you_.”

“One day I’m going to make you try poutine.” Jack tells him. Bitty’s face twists into a few different expressions, like he can’t decide on what emotion to feel. He seems to settle on exasperation before he shoves the last of his burger into his mouth. Jack considers the lack of witty response a win, and tucks into the rest of his meal. They leave when the sun has set completely, and Bittle holds the door for Jack as they walk out.

When it’s not sweltering outside, Georgia is actually very pretty. Jack had never been further south than Chicago before this, and he finds himself charmed by the sprawling landscape. Bittle fits in perfectly with the colonial style homes and the historic shops lining the streets downtown, blond hair turned gold in the lamplight and his vowels dragging out as he grows tired.

“--So there we were in the middle of that forsaken peach tree orchard, positively drenched, and my dear Auntie Louisa--God love her--she forgets that the wagon has a loose wheel--”

“Eric?” Someone calls out, and Bittle immediately falls silent. It’s strange to Jack, the way that Bittle withdraws into himself so suddenly. It’s not a complete change, Bittle is still smiling and he looks genuinely glad, but it’s guarded now.

“Coach!” It clicks into place, and Jack straightens so that he can look at Bittle’s father head on. The man is not entirely what he expects.

“Jack Zimmermann, right? It’s a pleasure to meet you, my boy here heaps all kinds of praise on you.” He offers a hand and Jack shakes it firmly, wanting to leave the best impression he can. He glances at Bittle from the corner of his eye at the mention of praise and smirks when Bittle blushes.

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Bittle.” Jack says. He mostly means it.

“You can call him Coach,” Bittle interjects, trying to save his own skin by shifting attention, and Coach smiles as he shrugs.

“Whatever suits you. I didn’t think I’d catch you boys out around town, I’d figured our neighbors would have claimed a monopoly over you, God bless’m.”

“We made quite the grand escape.” Bittle says drily, which makes Coach snort.

“So I see. Anyhow, I can give y’all a ride back to the house. I’m all done at the high school and your mama tells me you’ve got plans to make some of your tri-county winning pies?” He leads them off the sidewalk towards the parking lot of an Ace Hardware store. Bittle’s walk has changed, now straight-backed and almost militant with measured steps.

“I see how it is. Only use me for my pies, don’t you.” The banter is the only thing that hasn’t changed. It throws Jack for a loop, and then he realizes--it’s not that different from his relationship with his own dad. He relaxes after that, understanding. Bittle looks up at him for a moment, then stares ahead again.

“I’m caught.” Coach spreads his hands and laughs. “Let’s get a move on then, boys, those mini-pies are a-callin’.” Jack can’t tell if Coach is laying the accent on thick because Jack is there or if he genuinely just talks that way. They pile into a well-loved station wagon that has stickers placed on the back seats, which Bittle only mumbles about when Jack points them out.

Suzanne is waiting for them with apple pie moonshine and cans of preserved berries, which has Bittle jumping right into making mini-pies. As the evening drags on, Jack realizes where some of Bittle’s sharper wit really comes from. Jack doesn't end up saying much, only answering questions about hockey and complementing Bitty's baking when appropriate. It’s a mix of comfortable and reserved, and Jack finds himself fitting easily into their dynamic. They don’t push, and he doesn’t feel the need to offer more of himself than they do of themselves.

Jack eats mini-pies with Suzanne and Bittle, and drinks moonshine with Coach, and it feels like family.

At 11pm they all call it a night. Jack and Bittle go to their separate rooms, where they spend a solid twenty minutes texting each other before Jack passes out into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY GOOGLE DOCS NEARLY FINISHED FOR SOOOOO LONG.....if I post small installments I might be able to crank out the last few thousand words that I need to tie everything in together......

Jack’s cell phone alarm goes off at 5am, like normal, but he ends up laying in bed for half an hour before Bittle knocks on the door to get him. They finish packing up the car in about fifteen minutes while Suzanne makes breakfast, still wearing her peach-printed pajamas and yawning into her hand over the grits. Bittle is still groggy when they head out at 6:30am, which means that Jack is driving Bittle’s second hand Kia and the radio is set to a news station that Jack is only half listening to.

“I get carsick.” Bittle confesses an hour into the drive. They'd stopped once for coffee at a drive through Starbucks, and the car still smells like whatever sugary latte Bittle had. “That’s why I listen to music.”

“Have you tried audiobooks?” Jack used to listen to hockey podcasts while driving.

“I have the first two _Harry Potter_ books, the _Lord of the Rings Trilogy_ as well as _The Hobbit_ , and Tina Fey’s _Bossypants_.” Bittle pauses between each suggestion and Jack wonders what other books are on there.

“Better put on _Bossypants _.” Jack tells him, partly because he knows it will make Bittle happy, and partly because he likes Tina Fey. Bittle lets out a surprised, pleased little puff of noise and plugs in his iPod. They spend the next five hours of the trip having a Shitty-style discussion on feminism, the right to breastfeed in public, and whether or not it should be legal to kick a man in the balls for preventing a woman from entering an abortion clinic. Lardo would have been so proud. Shitty would have been more proud to learn that they ate an entire box of Hostess zebra cakes and several nutty rolls after one of their gas stops.__

__It’s a ten hour drive from Madison to DC and once they’ve finish _Bossypants_ Bittle takes the wheel for the last four hours._ _

__“This is more uneventful than I expected.” Bittle turns down the music, something by Nickelback that Jack had picked. It’s about two in the afternoon now, and they hadn’t stopped for lunch since the zebra cakes had left them with sore stomachs._ _

__“We’re on a time crunch,” Jack reminds him. “Maybe next time there will be more time for stops.”_ _

__Bittle doesn’t call him out on the fact that he’d implied there will be future road trips. They spend thirty minutes in silence before Bittle decides they need to play I Spy, which they both fail terribly at. They resort to another audiobook, _The Hobbit_ , to kill time before they reach their middle of the road destination._ _

__They’re almost bored to sleep by the audiobook when traffic finally slows them to a near halt. Bittle looks distressed, his hands clenched tightly to the wheel, and Jack grimaces as rush hour puts them at a standstill about an hour from their exit._ _

__“Here, we can just--swap.” Jack gestures between their seats._ _

__“Jack, honey, we are in the middle of the freeway.” Bittle shoots him the dirtiest look, but Jack is caught on the term of endearment that Bittle had sarcastically thrown in. Jack clears his throat and unbuckles his seatbelt._ _

__“We’re swapping.” Jack insists. Bittle splutters at him, waving a hand in protest, but when traffic doesn’t move he gives in and unbuckles his own seatbelt._ _

__“There’s not much room for this,” Bittle eyes the backseat, which is full of his college things._ _

__“Just crawl over here, you can fit partway onto the dash.” The Kia is small but Bittle is compact enough that it should work. Bittle hesitates, then crawls over the divide between their seats and settles awkwardly over Jack’s knees._ _

__“This is the worst idea.” He complains. Jack just lifts him up, gingerly folding him into the space between the windshield and the dashboard. Bittle is glaring like Jack has just informed him that his award winning pies lost at the fair._ _

__“It’ll be fine. Hold the top of my seat, I’m going under your arm.” Bittle does as Jack tells him to, reaching above Jack’s shoulders to hold onto the headrest. Someone behind them honks. Jack ducks under Bittle’s arm and clumsily scrambles into the driver’s seat just as traffic begins moving again._ _

__“We are never doing that again.” Bittle says as slides off the dashboard. His face is turned away, so he doesn’t see Jack nodding in agreement._ _

__

__The capital of the United States is beautiful, Jack has to admit once they’ve finally managed to park. Bittle looks awestruck, blonde hair catching in the early evening sun. Jack’s fingers itch; he snaps a photo with his cell and tucks it back into his jean pocket._ _

__“We get to spend a whole day here.” Bittle turns and says to him, disbelief plain across his face. Jack can’t help but laugh._ _

__“That was the plan, yes. Thank you for the reminder.” Bittle swats at his arm but there’s a smile on his lips that doesn’t leave for the rest of the night. They’re both exhausted from the drive, especially the last hour of traffic, but they manage to visit the Smithsonian for a little while and then they grab dinner at one of the cafes on the museum grounds. Jack had booked a room at a Holiday Inn with two beds, mostly at Bittle’s insistence that they didn’t need two separate rooms that they would only be sleeping in. He’s not wrong, the second they lay down in their beds they’re completely out._ _

__Jack is actually woken up by Bittle instead of the other way around, a hand gently shaking his shoulder until Jack opens his eyes. He squints up at Bittle, trying to make a face out of the shapes in front of him._ _

__“The continental breakfast is subpar at best,” Bittle whispers, “I googled a crepe shop down the street. Let’s go.” Jack stumbles out of bed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but that’s he manages before they’re out the door. Bittle looks slightly less worse for wear than Jack does, but only because he’d actually managed to comb his hair before leaving the hotel._ _

__‘Down the street’ turns out to be several blocks through the residential outskirts of DC, but when they get there the crepes are worth the trek. Bittle steals bites of Jack’s scrambled egg crepe and Jack retaliates by swapping their coffees while Bittle isn’t paying attention. The confused look on Bittle’s face when he tastes two-sugars-one-cream coffee has Jack laughing around bites of hashbrown._ _

__“You play dirty.” Bitte complains._ _

__“All’s fair, eh?” Jack tells him. He doesn’t finish the proverb. He doesn’t trust himself enough for that. “Let’s head back to the hotel.”_ _

__“I do feel disgusting.” Bittle stands up to stretch and grimaces when his back pops. “I could use a good, long shower.”_ _

__“Just remember that we want to be out of the room by noon.” Jack smiles. Bittle snorts at the half-hearted chirp, and then they’re off to the hotel._ _

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr under Kalael


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